


Here (It's a Long Way Down)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [44]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Touch is painful, now, is impossible to accept, because the only touch she understands any longer is paired with violence, and she does not know what to do with gentleness, does not think herself worthy and is afraid, on an almost instinctive level, of what will follow it—a punch, a gunshot, a stabbing.  How can a woman who knows only violence comfort anyone?Or,After her time alone as the Shrike, Ana has to reacquaint herself with positive touch, both for her own sake and for her daughter's.





	Here (It's a Long Way Down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tashatops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashatops/gifts).



> it was vickys birthday earlier this week and i was like "what do u want me to write" and she was like "idk maybe smtg abt touch starvation" and i was like MMMMM HOLY SHIT bc i had had this Thought for a while and never done anything with it. but now i have.
> 
> also vicky i know i already told u this but ur the best and i love u and i cant believe we met bc of fanfic

All soldiers need to be able to anticipate the moves of their opponents, and snipers especially must do so, knowing when and where their target will step next—one only has one good shot, and it cannot be wasted in thinking a target will step left when they are going right.  To this end, it is vital to Ana that she be good at anticipating others, knowing how they will react to any given situation; it became all the more important after the foundation of Overwatch, when she began to manage not only missions I the field but the reactions of the media and general public to the actions of Overwatch.  PR was not her forte—it was Jack’s—but she still gained knowledge that is impossible to forget, even in the present day, having hidden away from the world for nearly eight years.  When she hears, in the news, the rumors of a Recall, she _knows_ already how the public will react, how this might have been better managed by whomever decided to initiate a Recall, and who will respond.

More difficult, however, has been predicting her _own_ reactions.

(She did not know, until the day it happened, that she would ever leave Overwatch, thought that she, like Jack and Gabriel, would sooner be destroyed by the organization than outlive it.  Yet her will to survive was greater than she ever thought, and her selfishness, her shame.)

From the moment she hears of the Recall, she knows that Tracer must be involved, knows that Fareeha will jump at the chance to volunteer, knows that Angela will consider, will think the Recall is for the worst, will say as much—and go anyway.  What Ana does not know is that she, too, will join them, does not know that she will want to, or that she will be able to swallow her pride enough to face them again, to admit that she _ran_.

Where Fareeha goes, Ana will follow; that she knew, and it is still true.  Even so, she does not expect herself to reenlist, to rejoin her former comrades and reunite with her daughter.  What she thinks is that she will be able to hide in the shadows, and that things will continue to be as they have always been for the Shrike, guarding her daughter from a distance and never once making true contact.

( _Guarding_ Fareeha is what she is doing, she always says it that way.  She is not _watching over_ her, would not dare to say those two words so close together, not now.)

Instead, Ana does make contact, for reasons entirely unknown to her, and she is not subtle about it, either, giving Fareeha only a few hours’ advance notice before returning to the new Headquarters at Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

Fareeha’s response is much like she expected; their reunion is not warm, is in fact terribly brief, no words exchanged, no physical contact, just a greeting from her before her daughter leaves the room—but Fareeha _does_ meet her, just the two of them, does give her that courtesy at least, before she finds herself overwhelmed.  That is much as Ana expected, even if she is not pleased with the meeting, and is grateful that the others were not there to witness it, that Fareeha granted her the courtesy of privacy, so that the reaction of her comrades, old and new, will not be colored by that reunion.

(They are surprised to see her, most of them, and not only because she is dead.  She is the first to arrive without having been told where to meet them, the first to appear uninvited, although she is certain that she will not be the last.  After all, Winston has many talents, but subtlety and subterfuge are not among them—they will not stay hidden long, not from those who truly wish to find them.)

Yes, much is as Ana anticipated—the way in which Reinhardt greets her, enthusiastic and overwhelming as ever, the teasing charm from McCree, belying respect hard-won, the cold shoulder from Angela, who always has dealt with affection poorly and perceived abandonment worse—but there is something, _someone_ that catches her entirely off guard.

What she expected upon returning she is not certain, but it was not, _is_ not this, the strange push-pull whenever she touches someone, a desire to be closer, to not cut off contact, and simultaneously to run away from the touch, to flinch back and not allow anyone to touch her ever, _ever_ again.

When Reinhardt hugs her, she expects the touch, knows already that he _will_ do it, will scoop her up and squeeze her so tightly that for a moment she struggles to breathe.  It is not an _unwelcome_ greeting, necessarily, is one that she gave blanket consent to in another time, another place, another _life_ —it is a reaction she expects from him.  Her own reaction is what surprises her, but she tries to ignore it, tells herself that the reason she feels so warm and simultaneously scalded is that his strength borders on the threshold of pain, and does her best to put it out of her mind.

When Winston shakes her hand, she tells herself that her discomfort stems from the fact that he did not ask to do so first, did not wait to see if she would extend her own, merely reached out and grabbed her hand—albeit gently—and after years in her home country, she is no longer used to such from men to whom she is not especially close.  Were it not for her response to Reinhardt having hugged her, such might make sense, but as it stands she is only barely able to convince herself.

When she touches Angela’s elbow, intending to stop her from leaving the room, so that she might at least say _something_ , she is not sure which of the two of them pulls away from the touch more quickly, and Angela takes advantage of her surprise in order to make an escape. 

(That much, at least, is no surprise.  If Angela does not want to see someone, does not want to feel something, does not want to deal with a difficult situation, she will always find some excuse to be busy.  Some things never change.)

What has changed, Ana cannot say, but it is different, now, to try to be close to others, to touch and to be touched, is somehow overwhelming.

Perhaps she ought to think over it, ought to examine the source of this new pain, this confusion in herself.  Instead, she pushes it away like she does all further attempts at contact not afraid, necessarily, but wary of her own potential reaction.  If Ana has learned anything, whilst surviving as the Shrike, it is that sometimes asking oneself too many questions does far more harm than it does good.

(If she had not pushed herself, hand not stopped to think too deeply about whether or not what it was she did was _right_ , then she might have survived longer as Captain Amari.  When she only took orders it was almost easy to do her job, only became painful when she began to doubt herself, to wonder about the lives of those whom she killed.  It would not do to be lost, again, in such abstractions.  If the Shrike had asked such questions, Ana would be rather more permanently dead.)

Ignoring that which is painful is perhaps not healthy, but it is a means of survival, and Ana would rather she lived half a life than died with a whole one, experience taught her as much.  So she is careful, avoids all situations which might require her to think too deeply about this development, very deliberately does not touch anyone, or allow them to touch her, until she cannot do so any longer.

It is Fareeha, of course, who forces her from the comfort of solitude, is _always_ her daughter who brings about change in her, in some way, and so it should not surprise her—yet it does startle her, nonetheless, when Fareeha catches sight of her on her way out of the shared kitchen, tells her that they need to speak with one another.

She does not disagree, but the last time she and Fareeha truly spoke was years ago, was when Fareeha enlisted, was the reason that she found herself beginning to truly consider the lives on the other end of her scope, a perilous thought that lead, eventually to her downfall, to her death.  Just the thought of speaking with Fareeha is like touch has become for her, painful and comforting in equal measure.  She _wants_ to speak with her daughter, for all to be well, wants to be able to care for Fareeha again, to love her, but she is afraid, so afraid, of what it will be like, of what Fareeha may say.

(How can she defend herself?  How can she say that she has done the right things?  How can she pretend as if she is a good person, when the both of them know exactly whom and what she is?  What will she say, if her daughter demands answers?  There is no way to acquit herself honorably, for she is guilty, guilty, guilty, of all the things Fareeha might accuse her of and several more besides.)

What she does not expect is _forgiveness_ , not unconditional, perhaps, but forgiveness she could never have asked for, and in exchange which Fareeha asked nothing in return, no explanation or justification, no demand or terms, _nothing_. 

Nothing save for this: her daughter pulls her up and into a hug, and Ana wants to be there, wants nothing more than to hold her daughter tight and never let go, to let Fareeha know that, come what may, she will never, _ever_ push her away again.  Yet it frightens her, to be held—she wants to run, does not feel _safe_ , feels trapped in her daughter’s arms. 

(It used to feel different, holding Fareeha, but then _she_ was the strong one, was protecting her daughter—but now Fareeha towers over her, and has grown so confident, so sure, so able.  She is not needed by her daughter any longer, is instead the one who needs to be held, and that too scares her, that reliance on someone else, even if it is not the _primary_ source of her discomfort.)

When Fareeha lets her go, Ana wishes the hug had lasted longer, for surely a handful of minutes cannot make up for more than a decade, but she is terrified to initiate contact again, afraid to think too long or too deeply about what it is she fears.  She will have to—she knows that now, is realizing, too, what the problem is—but now is _not the time_ , surely, is not the place.  For now, she needs to be here, with her daughter, needs to focus on Fareeha’s needs, and not her own, needs to be the mother she should have been for the past eleven years, and not the one she was.  There will be time, later, for introspection.

(Rationalizing is something Ana can be good at, for short periods of time, at least when convincing herself, just for long enough to fulfill an objective.  She never had a problem with carrying out orders _during_ missions, only struggled, doubted, hesitated afterwards, and privately.  But when she fulfilled her objectives, then she could escape herself no longer.)

Later comes far too soon.  As much as she would like Fareeha to stay and talk, to reacquaint herself with the woman her daughter has become, their reunion was long enough in coming that the very act of being absolved exhausts her—and Fareeha had the far more draining part of _forgiving._ So it is that she finds herself alone, and suddenly the truth of the situation is unavoidable.

Somehow, along the way, she has forgotten what it is to be _loved._

She supposes that should not surprise her, for who could love a woman such as the one she was—the one she is?  Who could love a bounty hunter, someone who abandoned honor and duty and _family_ only to kill, one who freed herself from the guilt she felt by simply abandoning her past entirely, rather than attempting to better herself or make some sort of amends.

No one loved the Shrike, least of all herself—and no one should have.

It comes as no surprise, then, that she would have difficulty in returning to this life, to being _Ana,_ a woman who might have been worthy of love, at least some of the time.  If she knew herself better, she might have anticipated that this adjustment would be painful, for she is _un_ dying, rebirthing herself, and birth is painful, inevitably and inescapably.  But she did not think she would need to be reborn for this, thought it might be so easy as changing back into her old clothes—although those no longer fit quite right.

(She did not think that after dying, becoming a ghost, she would have to relearn personhood.  Yet here she is, the simplest of comforts now tormenting her.)

If anyone notices how very out of place—and _displaced_ —she feels, then they do not comment on it.  When she must, she can act as she used to, can say the right things to ensure that no one worries too terribly much about her; that is not difficult, for she was doing the same in the years before her death, too, when she was far worse off than she is now. 

Then, she doubted what they were doing, doubted their methods and their orders—including the ones she gave—but could show nothing, lest their enemies use it against them, and there were always, _always_ eyes on her.  Now, at least, she knows that the Recalled Overwatch fights only when it is necessary, having not the resources to do otherwise, and is not a pawn in the UN’s hands, seeking to impose the wills of a select few world leaders upon civilians everywhere.  Knowing why and whom and on whose orders she fights makes it easier to assuage her guilt, even if she will never be free from it entirely, and it brings her happiness to be able to protect her daughter, and to do so at her side, rather than from the shadows.

Nonetheless, her relationship with Fareeha, while improved, is not an easy one.  There is much rebuilding for them to do, and little things, said innocently, can be painful reminders of the past, but she is _trying_ , is doing everything she can to be a good mother, again, to be what her daughter needs her to be.

Or, almost everything.

Her daughter has always been a tactile person, has wanted comfort in the form of being touched, not spoken to, from her very earliest days.  Once, it was the easiest thing in the world to hold Fareeha, to take her into her arms an rock her back and forth until she calmed—but now?  Now she cannot be what Fareeha needs her to, not without hurting herself.

Touch is painful, now, is impossible to accept, because the only touch she understands any longer is paired with violence, and she does not know what to do with gentleness, does not think herself worthy and is afraid, on an almost instinctive level, of what will follow it—a punch, a gunshot, a stabbing.  How can a woman who knows only violence comfort anyone?

(And how could anyone be gentle with her?  She does not deserve it—she kills not only out of duty or a need to survive, but because it is her only skill, because it was _easier_ for her to keep killing than to learn to save others, because she knows nothing else.  How could she deserve any kindness?)

Touch is painful, now, is terrifying, is something that her body _knows_ can be followed by only pain—if not at this moment, then later, when she eventually loses the person to whom she has allowed herself to grow close to.  She is not so naïve as she once was; in war, it is only a matter of time before someone dies.  Why let herself grow attached, when she will only run?

(But she is, of course, already attached, to Reinhardt, to Angela, to Jesse—and of course to Fareeha most of all.  What good would it do, avoiding them?  Their deaths will hurt her either way, and at least if she does not give in to her fear, then she can make her daughter happy.  That, she wants more than anything, and she would suffer—has suffered—far worse to spare her daughter less pain.)

Touch is painful, now, but she is done running from things which scare her, she told herself that when she returned to Overwatch, to being herself, to being Fareeha’s mother.  Fareeha is kind, and loving, and selfless, and she deserves a better mother than Ana has been to her—this much Ana knows, and she is trying, now, to be what her daughter needs.

If she is no longer running from that responsibility, then she cannot run from this, too.

The next time Fareeha seems to need her, it is she who hugs her daughter first, and she is not so quick to pull away.  It is not easy, is still so viscerally painful that she can feel it in her bones, but she has endured worse injuries for a lesser cause, and it does not pain her as much as that first hug did.

Perhaps it will never be as easy again as once it was, and perhaps it will take years before they reach that point, but Ana will keep trying until she can enjoy holding her daughter again, until she can make Fareeha bend over so that she can pinch her cheeks like when she was a child, or ruffle her hair, and not think twice about the contact between them.  She may have given up on Overwatch, when things grew too painful, but she will never give up on her child, on the idea that one day, what is between them will hurt no longer.

Ana died for nothing, once, but she can live for something yet.

**Author's Note:**

> im dying squirtle bc nanowrimo is happening and i wrote this at the same time and like. the world is terrible. BUT i feel pretty good abt this fic and i love my friends so like. thats one good thing!! and it already made the one person who wrote it Feel Things so thats TWO whole good things! so things are actually not all bad all the time
> 
> anyway i hope u enjoyed or found this cathartic or... whatever u were looking for
> 
> title from 1ds long way down, but really i wanted to call this _words dont carry the same gravity_ which is a line from munas "around u". unfortunately i have a brand and that brand is one direction, but if u (like me) are a woman... who is interested in other women... check muna out, theyre a band of three women who all id as queer (also they opened for harry styles who was the frontman of one direction so like... im still on brand-ish)
> 
> so yeah, hopefully ur day is going as well as present circumstances allow, and if ur reading this and u need someone or smtg... idk, im here


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